In The Meantime: Whispering Her Name

Note: This series will go in and out of parts. Some will address the ghosts of past relationships, others will talk about current situations, and most will give advice. . You can find the series, in order, here.

The first part of this story, about the Heartbroken Divorcee is here.

His story didn’t stop us from falling that night. Falling into something that was difficult to explain or understand.

Wayne stared…

“Yes?” I asked him.

He smiled, “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“Does what make me uncomfortable?”

“Me. Looking at you.”

I giggled, as he moved closer. I felt like a teenager again, sitting next the most handsome boy in school. He was right. I tried to figure out exactly what his eyes peered at.

Was it my rogue braid?

The awkward gap, in my teeth?

Perhaps he was displeased with my facial expressions?

Why else would someone stare, for so long?

“I think you’re beautiful.”

I smiled, “Really?”

He traced my lips with his fingers; “I bet you were made fun of, because of that gap, when you were younger. It’s probably an attribute now.”

“I guess.”

“Guess? You should know. I’m sure men want to stick their tongues into the center of it.”

His vernacular became more brazen. I could not believe this was a man who told me a tale of woe, just moments before.

He grabbed my hand and kissed it, “Men are supposed to look at women. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable. That’s what I’m here for. To gaze at your beauty.”

I shivered at his honesty, while he placed both of his hands on my thighs. He pulled me closer to him. Our legs touched and my spine tingled, as he placed his hand on the small of my back.

“I want to tell you another story.”

My ears perked, I nodded.

“I set up two friends once. They were both quite timid and shy and I just knew they wouldn’t work out. They went on four ‘amazing’ dates and ended up in bed together, on the last one. The sex was horrible. There was no passion between them at all, now they can’t even be in the same room.”

I guffawed, “Why would you tell me that story? What does that have to do with what’s happening here?”

He tapped his fingers on my thigh, where his hand rested, “Because people don’t touch each other. All of those dates and I’m absolutely sure that my timid friends barely hugged. You need to know one another’s bodies early on. What makes someone shiver, what makes him or her burn bright. Don’t you agree?”

I answered, “I guess.”

He leaned in closer and ran his tongue across my lips, “You guess? There’s that word again…”

I was sure. Well, in that moment. Before I knew it, we were locking lips passionately. Suddenly he was right next to me, my confidence sat between us, and he consistently brushed it with his whispers: My God you’re beautiful. I need you to believe that. I’m going to make you believe it.

Telling his story, of loss, brought something different out of Wayne. There was an urgency in this sudden interaction, one that hadn’t been apparent before. Suddenly he wanted to give me the pieces of himself that he failed to bring home to his ex. I could tell the words were practiced. They were meant for a woman who hadn’t seen love in a while, because of distance and circumstance. I swam in the euphoria, but reminded myself that I was not her.

In fact, his subconscious reminded me again after falling asleep in one another’s arms. I sunk into him and heard him whisper her name as soon as he closed eyes. Damn.

& sometimes our fantasies are splintered.

They crack before our eyes.

Perfection has a way of beckoning us and allowing reality to intervene.

He wasn’t over her. I wasn’t willing to play second fiddle, as passionate as he might’ve been.

Exit divorcee.

Come back next Tuesday for the next installment of the series!

“RivaFlowz” is an educator and professional writer living in New York City. You can follow her on Twitter: @rivaflowz or read more of her work on her blog.


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